Kitty Love

Readers, and imaginary readers, who probably outnumber you, be aware: this will be a blog about cats. If that offends your sensibilities, then move along to more scintillating fare. Cat people, here is my issue: I think I might need to get another cat.

I admit, I like cats. I didn’t used to, but then I got some. I now have two. The first was adopted hesitantly and largely because of Frank. Her name is Elliott. The second was adopted off Craigslist because I thought that Elliott was lonely—she would mew and demand constant attention. I accidentally ended up with a gigantic, young, creepily smart cat named Ruggles.

Elliott still cries and demands attention, except that now she also hates Ruggles. They fight. Like a lot. I come home to find fur stuck to the floor with some indeterminate fluid or kitty litter and blood everywhere. He has gashes all over him from the fighting, fortunately nothing serious, but I swear I’m going to come home one day and find him missing an eye.

Long-time readers might note that I’ve covered this topic before. Previously the vet suggested I put “composure liquid” into their food—some kind of homeopathic calming fluid. This, unsurprisingly, cost a lot and did nothing.

So on the most recent vet visit, the guy suggested that we get another cat. At first I assumed he was joking, but no. It seems throwing cats at the problem is not as nuts as it sounds. The thinking is that Ruggles is young and needs someone to play with, and Elliott is old and crotchety and hates playing, which explains why he’s always the one that walks away injured.